In a Different Light

By Alan

Two filthy barefooted little girls
in dirty dresses descended upon me as I exited our fenced compound at 5 PM on a
warm Friday night. Their dark skin was powdered with street dirt. They each
held out their right palm with black dirt under their short fingernails. They
would close the hand and pull it to their lips, smiling and nodding to indicate
hunger, then repeat the process.

Welcome to street life in
Pune,
India.

It’s there waiting for us every
time we go out, day or night. I was invited by Edwin Baker, the K-Teams leader
in
Australia,
to come along with his team to visit the homeless. Our hostess for the evening
was Anu, a Christian Indian woman who ministers to the homeless and helpless. Before our ride arrived the young beggars,
less than ten years old, must have repeated the show ten or twelve times, going
to each of us several times. That’s how they make a living.

The Auzzies raised their hands and
said “No, I don’t have anything to give you.” On about the fourth request, I
announced, “I bless you in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy
Spirit,” crossing myself and then patting one girl lightly on the head. Hey, I
didn’t know what to do! You could have a roll of 40 rupee coins (worth 2 cents
each) and walk down the street handing one to every destitute person. You’d be
empty handed in about ten minutes.

There is a
row of auto-rickshaws lined up like taxis, across from our compound. These ARE
the taxis in India. They hold up to three people, but we have had them take
six. We can hardly pass one without the drivers trying to offer us a ride. At
least they’re working a respectable living.

We finally
climbed in the small right-hand drive four-door SUV and off we went into the
evening. We weren’t going even a mile, just around a long crowded block of rude
rickshaw and motorcycles drivers, which included two dangerous right turns.
Imagine making a left turn in America where the oncoming lane never lets up or
yields and could care less if you want through. That’s where there is a signal.
There are intersections here where all four directions keep going – east, west,
north and south - creeping through like rush hour on a crowded LA freeway,
honking the whole time. We did one of each intersection type before we pulled
up across from the train station.

The station
had a sea of motorcycles parked and people coming and going like Six Flags or
Disneyland had just closed for the night, with street traffic to match. It was
nuts. Our business though, was across the street.

Along a block wall people were
standing and sitting. Those seated or even laying down were obviously beggars.
Some held infants. There were piles of clothes stacked all along the wall.
Edwin said they were homeless and this was where they lived.

I got out my camera and tried for a
few pictures. Everything was moving so fast. Many recognized our group and
began shaking hands with the tall Edwin and others. Edwin had said we would be
taking them to a park where it would be quieter and we could visit with them
and pray.

The homeless seemed to know what
was up and that we would give them food in the deal too.Anu footed the tab for the homeless “village”
to ride rickshaws to the park. We jumped back into our SUV and headed behind Anu
on her motorcyle.

On the way to and from the park I
was fascinated with all the tiny one-man shops and stands. With my background
in retail I have great respect these hard working businessmen. I look forward
to going back and trying to visit many of them.

Wepulled over by a walled-in Park with giant shade trees, and began
unloading the sacks of cargo we were carrying. I was handed a large bag of
clothing and carefully maneuvered over crumbled concrete and filth to a large
gate into the park. As we fileddown the
stone walkway, we became a spectacle to the fairly busy park. The occupants
were mostly older Indian men in groups, sitting along short stonewalls or on
benches, and India garbed women doing the same, but separate from the men. It
reminded me of the Mexicans hanging out in the park in Fillmore, California.

The homeless folks came with us as
we entered a small gate into a sunken grassy area bout the size of a football
field, Something you don’t find much in this crowded town. The large bare
trunks of the trees rose40 feet above
our heads. Everyone sat down in a circle, the men on one end, women on the
other. There was a row of people beyond the perimeter of the lawn area over a
hedge, standing and staring like we were a freak show. (Funny white people messing
with the homeless!)

We foreigners said our names and
where we were from, then Anu began interviewing the girls to extract their
stories. An 18-year-old girl nursing her baby had already lost the baby’s
father to another girl, she said. One woman’s husband was in a drunk fight and
been killed. The ladies said they all begged every day at the train station
making about 20 rupees a day to feed their family. The men sell balloons or
lime and chillies. Otherwise they are dead-beats and get drunk. Anu scolded the
other men to go get a job so the women wouldn’t have to beg. They just laughed.

Just last week one of these women’s
husbands had reached down to pick up his sandal in a shabby house. He was bit
on the hand by a poisonous snake and died in five minutes!The men were 20 years old or younger. The
women seemed to be older in average age than the men. Edwin gave an interpreted
greeting in his Auzzie accent. He asked if his team could pray with the people.
They spread out, men with men and ladies with ladies.

Edwin was very straight forward
with each man, asking him to repeat his words. “Holy Spirit come,” was his
favorite phrase as he prayed for the men to get jobs.

Fr. Anil Dev has been sharing how
the Indian people need a savior. They’re looking for a Messiah. The Lord Jesus
Christ is the only one who saves them.

As dusk took over we began passing
out three pound bags each of rice and lentils. We gave a bag to each family.
Then the gunnysack of clothes was pulled out and quickly found takers for the
100 or so garments.

Night was making pictures more
difficult as we shook hands and the people thanked us – inviting us to come
visit their homes – a kind, cultural gesture. We all headed back to the road
and our vehicles, more tired and drained from the emotion of it than any of us
realized.

Through it I saw the street people
in a different light, as real families, stuck and not knowing how to escape. I
wonder, what kind of spirits control them? Lord let us humble ourselves and not
complain about the simple conveniences we are blessed with. Forgive us for
judging. Bless these people. Show us how to help. In Jesus Name, Amen.